


The Train Ride Over

by orphan_account



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, fight, my fingers slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: SO while I was writing my Fake Dating AU this... happened.Basically, the fake dating AU is super fluffy (just so, so, fluffy) and after writing a particularly fluffy scene I got up and when I came back, I kid you not, this just... came out. I started typing Bram freaking out and overthinking on the Train to see Simon, and yeah.I guess my internal Fluff/Angst meter was off so to keep the Fake Dating AU as fluffy as I wanted it to be this story had to come out of me.





	The Train Ride Over

**Author's Note:**

> SO while I was writing my Fake Dating AU this... happened.  
> Basically, the fake dating AU is super fluffy (just so, so, fluffy) and after writing a particularly fluffy scene I got up and when I came back, I kid you not, this just... came out. I started typing Bram freaking out and overthinking on the Train to see Simon, and yeah. 
> 
> I guess my internal Fluff/Angst meter was off so to keep the Fake Dating AU as fluffy as I wanted it to be this story had to come out of me.

Simon’s face pops up on my screen, and I hit decline and go back to my paper. I’m mid-flow, and it’s only six. We talked about this months ago, that we call after eight. When we’re both done studying and there’s no more clubs. Sure, one of us might call before then but if the other is busy it’s all okay.

So, when my phone lights up with another call I jab the decline button a little too aggressively and shoot him a text;

**Busy.**

Then I toss my phone onto my bed and look at my screen again.

A little past eight I remember that Simon called, and I hit save then grab my phone. There’re a couple messages from Simon.

**Just call me when you have a minute.**

**I love you, Bram.**

I smile to myself and crawl onto the bed and call him back.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, baby,” I say.

“Hey babe,” Simon’s voice is off. Like he’s stressed but trying to fake cheeriness.

“What’s up?”

The line is quiet for a minute, then, “Your mother called me.”

“Oh? What did she call you about?”

“She the last time you two spoke was a month ago?”

I think back, it doesn’t feel that long, “one second,” I say and put him on speaker phone. I scroll through my call history. It’s mostly Simon, a couple short calls in-between. And more than a month back is my mom’s name. It was a short call. It all comes rushing back.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “I guess I got so into my school work that I haven’t called.”

“Bram,” his voice is timid, “she called to ask if you were eating, and sleeping.”

“What?”

“I told her as far as I knew, but it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen you.”

“How often does she call you?” I snap. I’m going back in my head to his good morning texts, the ones I always respond ‘good morning baby’ back even though half the time I’ve been up for hours. _Were those even real?_

“This was the first time.” Simon pauses for a moment, “Bram?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course, I worry,” I can hear his frown though the phone, “I love you.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” I say, “not my mother.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice is quiet again, “maybe if you talked to her—”  

“Simon,” I cut him off sharply, “I’ve just been busy.”

The line is silent for several seconds, I can hear him swallow, “But you have been taking care of yourself?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One you aren’t answering.”

“I’m eating and sleeping.”

“Regularly?”

I don’t answer.

“Bram… I know you’ve pulled a couple all-nighters, but just a couple, right?”

“Simon, just drop it.”

“I know you’re stressed, I am too, and baby, I know how hard you work… Please, just remember to take care of yourself, okay?”

“You are too?” and I don’t know what I’m saying now, I’m just done with this conversation. I think I’ll regret my next words for the rest of my life; “With theater club and bingo every Friday? With fucking pizza nights and what? And what Simon? You don’t stay up every night writing and re-writing papers and feeling like you’ll never, _never_ , be enough. Everyone loves you, so exactly what about this is ‘you too’?”

He doesn’t respond. My heart is racing, though, and all the anger I’ve been keeping locked down is pouring out of me. All the exhaustion and anxiety. Simon’s always done that, sat there and held my hand while I let it all out. While I take everything that builds in me and pour it into emails, or texts. But I’ve never aimed it at him. I’ve never exploded _at him_.

“Please stop,” his voice is broken when he finally speaks, “please stop thinking you aren’t enough. Bram, you are.”

“You don’t know.” I grit my teeth, “Stop pestering me. Stop telling me what I should be doing. Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m doing everything I can, Simon. I’m doing everything to get straight A’s and be on the soccer team and give you all my time in-between.”

“If you don’t have time,” Simon’s voice isn’t small, or hoarse anymore, it’s steady and clear, “then _don’t bother coming to see me_ this weekend.”

I curl in on myself, my eyes sting and after a moment I can feel the tears gathering between my cheek and the phone screen.

“I won’t,” it’s shaky, and I’m scared he can hear me crying.

The line clicks off. I lower the phone and stare at it my hand for a moment then I throw it at the wall and curl into a ball. The lights are on, but I don’t have the energy to get up and turn them off. I shake, and cry, and fall apart until I’m out of tears and my body is too worn to shake, then I stare at the wall until my eyes won’t stay open.

***

There’s a box of Oreos and a bouquet on the train seat next to me. In my mind the bouquet wilts before my eyes. The petals blacken and the stems crumple under the weight of my nerves. I can’t think of any way for the Oreos to self-destruct, so they just sit there on the yellow train seats.

I know this train ride by heart. But today, my hands shake and my heart stutters. Today, there are no cute texts from Simon. No updates. Today, I am alone with my thoughts, with the memories, the fears, and every single possible outcome. I’ve always done this, thought up every depressing thing. As if thinking them will keep them from happening. Or, maybe, thinking them just keeps me from being disappointed if they turn out to be true.

I close my eyes and give myself permission to go through every single outcome I fear.

***

_His door doesn’t even open. I just sit on the floor outside until my phone buzzes:_

**I said not to come.**

***

_He screams at me before the door is fully open. It’s everything he would never say. Everything he hates about me. Every single way I’ve ever fucked up. Everything he’s forgiven me for and the things he hasn’t gotten the chance to yet. He shoves me once; his eyes are red and there’s tears running down his face._

_“Fuck you!” His voice is turning hoarse and he steps into the hallway and shoves me again. I let him. I let him shove and shove and shove, until he’s sinking to the floor and there’s a crowd._

***

_Simon’s jaw clenches and his cold grey eyes narrow in on his Haverford hoodie._

_“Get out.” He hisses._

_“Please let me—”_

_“I didn’t want you to come. I don’t want your excuses. I want you to get out.” Then he plants his hands on flat on my chest and shoves. I’m stronger than him, but right now my legs are jelly. I stumble back into the hall and he slams the door._

_I stand in the empty hallway, holding my breath so he won’t hear my heart tear itself out of my chest._

***

_Simon is shirtless when he opens the door. Face-flushed, a half smile sliding off his face, as he stutters “B-Bram…”_

_My chest aches because I know, I know, exactly how he looks after. My heart can’t even break, there’s just a ragged hole where it used to beat._

_“Si?” Behind him there’s a beautiful boy. Sheets tangled through his legs, leaning against the wall. He looks nothing like me—my mind can’t fix on any one face, he’s all bright blue eyes and carefree smiles._

_“I said not to come,” Simon whispers to the floor._

***

The train is pulling into the station and for a minute I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to stand. I’m nauseated. With the words we said echoing in my head, and memories of him in my head I grab the Oreos and flowers and get off the train.

The train ride was for obsessing over every way this could go wrong. The walk through campus is for all the memories of him. I can’t help the tears, and I don’t want to. I’ve got the hood on his jacket pulled up and it’s raining softly, so no one pays me any attention.

My chest physically hurts when I reach his dorm room door. Like my heart is trying to beat out of my chest and join with my soul.

I knock on his door. Once. Twice. A third time. But no answer comes. He’s not here and the idea of waiting with my thoughts any longer is unbearable. I press my shaking hand into the door and try to breathe.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is tiny and shaking.

“Please,” I say into the door, my words get caught halfway through.

I hear the bed creak and a moment later the door opens.

It’s worse than my imaginary outcomes because Simon is in the Elliott Smith shirt, tear tracks down his cheeks, hunched in on himself. He looks miserable and I’d rather him be angry. 

I drop the flowers, and the Oreos.

He reaches out and pulls me into his dorm room and shuts the door behind me. I’m in his space, almost touching him, and I can feel the warmth coming off him.

“Simon I—” but I can’t finish because this horrifying sob shakes Simon’s whole body and he’s falling into me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold both of us up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he says into my shirt, his words come out squished together. 

My tears are falling onto the top of his head. I sink both of us to the ground and cup his face. His lip is shaking, and his eyes are red, but he keeps eye contact and his grip on my arms is steady.

“Please don’t ever stop,” I say, “I was scared and angry and I shouldn’t have said any of it. I should have told you how much it means to me that you care. I should have said I was tried, and stressed and sick of holding it in. I’m so, so, sorry.”

Simon leans forward to kiss me, I can feel his tears and it’s short, but I hold onto it.

“Bram,” He lets go of my arm to stroke my cheek, “I do care, but you can’t keep telling yourself you aren’t good enough. You are more than _enough_ , you’re amazing. I love you, but if you’re feeling like that you need to tell me, _before_ you explode.”

“I will,” I promise, “I’ll get sleep and actually eat regularly, and I’ll tell you how I’m feeling.”

“And call your mother?” he asks, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Yes.”

“How long do I have you for?”

“All weekend,” I smile, “I might have gotten a little sleep and looked at my coursework objectively and realized I’m ahead enough to just forget about anything but you for a couple days.”

Simon nods, “Okay, I’m going to get us your favorite takeout, and you’re going to call your mother, then we’re going to cuddle and sleep. Sound like a plan?”

“Anything with you is perfect.”

We stand and Simon changes into jeans. When he opens the door, he stops short and stares at the floor, where the flowers and Oreos are still sitting. He scoops them up then turns to face me.

“You dork,” he pulls me in for a smile-filled kiss.

***

Two hours later there’s leftover takeout on Simon’s desk and I’m curled up in his arms. The lights are off, but he’s reading a kindle book, so I can see his face.

I reach up and lower his phone. He smiles at me and sets it on the bedside table.

‘Hi, baby,” I say.

“Mhmm,” he hums and wraps his arms tighter around me, then kisses my check, “what is it?”

“I’m sleepy.”

He chuckles, “go to sleep, then.”

“Not without you.”

Simon slides the rest of the way down, until our faces are level. I smile and kiss his eyelids, then down to his cheeks. He turns his head and our lips meet. It’s soft and slow, and I can feel his gentle heartbeat on my palms. Then my eyes are drifting closed.

“I love you,” he sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading  
> Comments and kudos fuel me and keep my fingers typing. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for all the sad. <3


End file.
